Hereward 03 - End of Days by James Wilde

Author:James Wilde [Wilde, James]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2013-07-04T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

REDWALD CLOAKED HIMSELF in the shadows in the corner of the tent. The din of the feast swirled all around him and out into the still fenland night. Cups clashed together accompanied by loud oaths and raucous laughter rolled out like waves upon the shore. Every Norman noble and knight in the east was there, it seemed. Servant girls whirled with hot beef and smoked eels, and pitchers brimming with ruby wine. The succulent scents of the fine food would have drawn water from the mouth of any man. But Redwald ate nothing, nor allowed one drop of drink to pass his lips. He only watched.

The king roared with laughter, swilling wine across the table. Beside him, Abbot Turold, newly arrived from Burgh, leaned in and whispered, his eyes glittering with glee. At one of the far tables, Redwald could just glimpse Ivo Taillebois, glowering, and a sullen William de Warenne. Once they would have been supping at the king’s right hand. No more. He had supplanted them.

As he studied the king, Redwald unconsciously traced a finger over his new linen tunic, expertly dyed madder red. It had been provided by William himself, for a monarch’s close adviser could not be seen to dress like a common mudhopper. He had a new leather belt too, engraved with whorls. Edoma had gasped with delight when he had shown the gifts to her.

The monarch threw back his head and laughed once more. Redwald frowned. He could see no reason for his master’s uncommon high spirits. Keeping to the shadows, he edged around the tent so he could more easily overhear the king’s conversation in the cacophony of voices.

‘Never would I have thought the English would take so long to break,’ William was saying. ‘They have fought like starving rats at every turn.’

‘Aye,’ Turold slurred as he beckoned for more wine. ‘We thought that day at Senlac Ridge was hard-fought. It was as nothing to the battle we have fought every day since then.’

William nodded. ‘The sword is sharp, but it takes a keen wit to win this war.’ He smiled, almost to himself, Redwald thought. ‘But we are close now, God willing.’

Redwald prowled around the fringes of the tent, listening where he could. No one seemed to notice his presence. The nobles were all caught up in their drink, and filling their bellies to bursting, as if they could not get enough each day of their lives. Hereward would have been contemptuous of them, these conquerors growing fat off the labours of the broken-backed English. Redwald felt nothing. They were of use to him, or they were not. No other measurement was necessary.

As the night drew on, the king drank more than Redwald had ever seen him consume. He swilled wine, and ale, and mead, calling for oaths as if all was right with the world, and he was not on the brink of a bloody battle that would tear apart the armies of both sides. But then some nobleman rose

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